The clock just ticked past 9am on Sunday morning, and I ‘m sitting in the “study” (junk room) admiring my own handiwork. There have always been two desks in here - one never used - or rather, just another flat surface upon which anything might be left (you know - like the kitchen worktops, the coffee table in the lounge, the side of each and every stair tread, every window, and so on.
I ‘ve moved my work computer to the second desk. I ‘m going to try out using it purely for work. During the week I will sit at that desk, without distraction from anything else. There is some brick-a-brack tucked behind the monitor - I might see what I can do about disappearing some of that into the loft. There ‘s no reason for it to be there - like many other things around the house, it has just ended up there.
I have to go and buy some milk in a minute. We ‘re almost out. If my other half doesn ‘t get a morning cup of tea, the world will end.
(ten minutes pass while I find some socks, put some shoes on, and trudge to the corner shop and back)
We now have milk, some cereals, and a swiss roll. The corner shop has a PS5 limit on card transactions, and I haven ‘t even seen any cash for about three years. I ‘ve hidden the swiss roll in the kitchen cupboard - I wonder how long it will be until the kids find it ?
There was a new girl behind the counter of the corner shop today - I ‘ve not seen her before. Of course I say “girl” - she was perhaps thirty. Is this what reaching 50 does? Does every woman younger than me become a girl? I know at least one close friend who break into the biggest grin that I ‘m even turning this thought over in my head - it might even be hug worthy.
Anyway.
Time to go make a second cup of coffee with the newly acquired milk. The Beatles are playing Blackbird in the kitchen. A perfect soundtrack to a melancholy, grey morning.